[MashUp] Ch 23: The Art of Conquest!

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All day long, Alisa Mikhailovna Kujou had been in a foul mood.

From the moment she set foot in Ichinose Academy, she'd had only one goal:

Find out who exactly this woman in Room 501, "Mafuyu Kirisu," really was.

But things went off track from the very beginning.

...

Morning.

Right after completing her transfer paperwork, Alisa planned to use the excuse of "getting familiar with the campus" to slip into the faculty office for some reconnaissance.

Instead, a swarm of boys buzzed around her like flies.

"Whoa! She's Princess Alisa! She is so stunning."

"Half Russian, half Japanese—perfection!"

"Hey, go talk to her, man!"

One poor guy got shoved forward, grinning in what he must have thought was a charming way.

"Kujou-san, you must be new here. Need someone to show you around?"

Alisa didn't even glance at him.

Her reply came out like a knife dipped in ice. "No need."

Then, turning her head slightly, she muttered under her breath in annoyed Russian:

"...Tý dumayesh, chto ty—ôn?" (...You think you're him?)

The boy still didn't take the hint, so she finally raised her glacier-blue eyes, pushing down a strange emotion in her chest.

"First, I don't like accepting help."

"Second, pushy guys don't interest me."

Two lines, as sharp as slaps. Their excitement shattered instantly.

"Damn... she shut him down on the spot."

"Well duh, a girl on that level isn't gonna look at us."

"Her Japanese is insane though. Didn't the teacher say she grew up in Russia?"

"Yeah, but she's been in Japan since middle school. Still—three years to sound that fluent? Unreal."

Ignoring the whispers, Alisa stood. At 170 cm, her height made plenty of the boys shrink back in insecurity.

And that's when she saw her.

Mafuyu Kirisu, walking down the hallway with lesson plans in her arms.

Every student along the way instantly straightened and bowed.

"Good morning, Kirisu-sensei!"

The woman merely nodded, expression unreadable.

That breathtakingly beautiful face carried a world-weary coldness, as if she were already done with humanity.

So different from the nervous, flustered woman Alisa had seen in the elevator yesterday.

The contradiction made her curiosity flare even more.

...

Lunchtime.

The cafeteria was loud and chaotic, and Alisa just wanted a quiet corner.

But her appearance was far too striking; eyes followed her wherever she went.

"She even eats elegantly..."

"Feels like our cafeteria food isn't worthy of her."

"Does she like sweets? Maybe I should learn how to make desserts..."

Then the class rep—an upbeat, friendly girl—approached with a tray.

"Kujou-san, is this seat taken? Mind if I join you? We could chat about school."

Pure kindness.

But Alisa only gave her a cool glance. "Thank you. But sorry, I've been used to eating alone since I was little."

Her soft voice still built a wall higher than stone.

The rep's smile froze. She shuffled away awkwardly, and the others who had been watching quickly lost heart.

Whispers rose again, tinged this time with awe.

"Wow... even the class rep got rejected."

"People are already calling her the 'Solitary Princess.'"

"Hah, it actually fits perfectly."

"..."

Alisa ignored them, savoring her peace at last.

But out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a familiar figure—

That woman, Mafuyu, entering the cafeteria with another teacher.

Alisa straightened unconsciously, ears straining.

"Ara Ara Mafuyu, you're looking healthier and healthier every day! Doing it every day Huh?"

"S-Sato-sensei! Please don't say things like that at school!"

Mafuyu's voice carried embarrassment, her cheeks coloring as she all but fled with her tray.

Alisa's grip on her chopsticks tightened.

Healthier every day? Doing it every day?

The words mixed with Takuma's smug grin in her mind, forming a scene she didn't want to picture.

Bitterness slipped out in Russian before she could stop it:

"…Pochému… oná?" (...Why... her?)

Suddenly, even the fried chicken on her plate tasted cloyingly sweet. Appetite gone.

...

Afternoon.

Five minutes before history class.

After an entire day of observation, Alisa's mystery only deepened.

A woman who looked cold all morning, how was she supposed to "teach and inspire"?

No one dared approach Alisa now. She sat quietly, hiding behind a Russian poetry book.

"She's coming, she's coming!"

"Can't wait to hear today's story!"

"I even read up on the Battle of Okehazama last night. Sensei explains it way better than Wikipedia!"

The buzz of excitement made Alisa pause, confused.

History? One of the most boring subjects in existence.

How could anyone associate it with words like "exciting" or "hyped"?

That woman—hot-blooded teacher material? Impossible.

The bell rang.

Click, click. Heels tapped closer.

The classroom door slid open.

Mafuyu stepped in.

Still perfect in her business suit.

But her chin was lifted now, eyes gleaming with quiet confidence.

She walked to the podium, gaze sweeping the room.

For just a fraction of a second, her eyes landed on Alisa.

Calm. Unshaken.

As though her morning slip-up had never existed.

Alisa's heart clenched, her fist curling tight.

That look—was it a challenge?

Damn her!

...

Meanwhile, at the hallway window behind the podium, the flamboyantly dressed dean sipped tea, spying yet again like some creepy peeper.

He wanted to see if yesterday's "miracle lecture" was just a fluke... or if this stubborn ice queen had truly awakened.

...

Mafuyu ignored everyone.

She opened the lesson plan.

Still covered in that man's wild, arrogant handwriting: {The Art of Conquest — From Caesar to Napoleon.}

She took a deep breath, then spoke in her usual frosty tone.

"Today's history lesson... isn't about war."

"It's about conquest."

"If a man wanted to conquer a nation—or a woman—what would he need?"

The question hit like a thunderclap. The room went dead silent.

Fumino Furuhashi's cheeks went scarlet, her heart pounding at the daring comparison.

Rizu Ogata frowned, already trying to model "conquest = f(x)."

Alisa's pupils shrank.

That metaphor—too sharp, too loaded.

It reeked of him.

Something was off!

But Mafuyu pressed on, answering her own question. "An army of millions? Endless riches?"

"No."

She shook her head, lips curving with a dangerous edge.

"What you need—"

"Is the ability to make people abandon reason for you."

She paused.

"When Caesar crossed the Rubicon, he said, 'The die is cast.' All of Rome lost itself in the confidence of a tyrant."

"When Napoleon escaped Elba, he faced the army sent to arrest him. Calmly, he bared his chest and said, 'Soldiers! If any of you wishes to kill his Emperor, here I am!'"

"And the entire kingdom—switched sides for him."

Her voice carried a strange, magnetic pull.

"That... is the art of conquest."

"It rises above logic, beyond right or wrong."

"It's about whether you have the charm that makes people betray the world for your sake."

It was like a jolt of electricity through the entire class.

For a moment, Alisa felt as though every light in the room converged on that radiant woman.

The absurdity of the contrast nearly made her doubt her own eyes.

At the window, the dean froze, teacup hanging midair, jaw dropped wide.

This wasn't just an improvement.

This was a damn awakening!

He could see it—Fumino Furuhashi and Rizu Ogata, his two biggest headaches, utterly captivated.

The dean clenched his fist, a bold decision finally crystallizing.

...

The dismissal bell rang.

Mafuyu closed the lesson plan, eyes sweeping over the still-stunned students.

"Class dismissed."

Then she turned and strode out.

Alisa didn't move.

She just stared at that retreating back.

World-weary coldness, panicked fluster, and now... the commanding aura of a tyrant lecturing conquest.

The contradictions tore at her thoughts.

Her pale cheeks flushed with a mix of frustration and something she refused to name.

She didn't want to think about it. Refused to.

"Ah—moooou!"

Burying her face in her Russian poetry book, only her misty blue eyes and red-tipped ears peeked out.

Finally, all her irritation and helplessness slipped into a muffled mutter.

"…Kák zhe razdrázhaet.." (...Ugh, she's so damn annoying...)

.

.

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Trivia: 

- ...Tý dumayesh, chto ty—ôn? → ...Ты думаешь, что ты—он?

- …Pochému… oná? → …Почему… она

- …Kák zhe razdrázhaet.. → …Как же раздражает..